Lilliana cota

With my feet dangling over the floor

And my head barely peeking

Over the pew, I sulked with thoughts

And doubts. My cousin and I, both

Eight years old, comforted each other

In silence. As I remained quiet, her voice

Began to shake, “We will never see him

Again” –but how come? We saw him last

Week. “We will forget his face” – but how

Could I forget his scratchy kisses? “We won’t

Remember him” – but how could I forget

His love for mint chocolate chip ice cream

And black licorice? At the cue of the bell,

The hushed crowd stood in unison as if

Each person lifted the weight of sadness

From their shoulders. I could feel the melancholy

Bearing down like gravity. Those who had

Practice held their heads high – but the rest

Of us hung our heads, unable to support

The weight. I stood still and quiet in despair

As I tried and tried but couldn’t shed a tear.

How can a grandchild not cry at a funeral?

Then the bagpipes released one last breath

Of life as we said our final goodbyes. With my

Ancestors’ tune ringing in my ear, I couldn’t help

But weep a hundred tears.